<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Haunted by Astronut</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724049">Haunted</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronut/pseuds/Astronut'>Astronut</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston &amp; Michael Stackpole</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Wraith Squadron (Star Wars)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:42:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,720</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724049</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronut/pseuds/Astronut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A ghost from the past helps Tyria face her future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyria Sarkin/Kell Tainer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please do not repost without permission.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Haunted</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I</p>
<p>With a huff of frustration, Tyria used a long straight lined torquer to carefully pick apart two insulated wires.  Her husband had told her to cut the red one, but with the entwined wires located deep in the engine cavity, her head cocked at an odd angle, and the erratic flashing of the aging glow panel overhead, it wasn’t as easy as he had made it out to be.  She levered the cutters against the side of the access panel.  It was hard to hold both tools and maintain her precarious perch, but there was no way she was going to ask him for help, not when she was this mad at him. </p>
<p>“Do you need a hand?” Kell called up, displaying a remarkable sense of timing despite his lack of Force sensitivity. </p>
<p>“No, I’m fine,” she growled through clenched teeth.  She moved the cutters just a little to the left and finally snipped the stubborn offender.  Now she only had the rest of the electronic governor to pry out. </p>
<p>“Just let me help hold that while you finish cutting the rest of it, it’ll go faster.” </p>
<p>She gave in, shoving the torquer and the grease covered electronics box into his hands so she could clip the rest of the wires. </p>
<p>When the Wraiths had dropped out of hyperspace at the edge of the Corellian System, they had been met with a none-too-happy welcoming squad with heavy arsenal.  While the rest of the squadron had avoided the erratic and inaccurate barrage with ease, Tyria’s X-Wing had sustained heavy damage to her port engines.  Her astromech had been hit by an ion blast as well.  Barely able to limp to a small, dilapidated space station, it would be several days of grueling repair before she could fly the X-Wing back out.  Unfortunately, timing would be everything for this mission, and repairs would have to be made quickly, which meant she was stuck helping her husband. </p>
<p>“You’re not still mad at me, you?” he murmured into her ear as he looked over her shoulder into the depths of the charred fusial engine. </p>
<p>Tyria loved her husband, but on occasion, just like most spouses, she had the urge to injury him severely.  “Yes,” she grunted, shrugging so that her shoulder bopped him in the nose. </p>
<p>“I just thought you’d like to talk about it, this is one of those decisions I thought we should make together,” said Kell. </p>
<p>“We did.  We talked about this back when we got married.  I don’t want to have kids.  You knew going into this that I wouldn’t provide you with the big family you wanted,” she replied, a few tears combining with the dirt and lubricant on her face. </p>
<p>“It’s just…”</p>
<p>“No!”  Tyria slammed down the cutters and slid down from the X-Wing’s S-foil to land in a crouch.  Grabbing a rag soaked in solvent, she began to scrub at her hands furiously.  “Kell, I’m terrified of the Force.  You know that I have a hard time controlling it and that the only times I can ever get things to work are when I’m not trying at all.  What are we going to do when if our kids are strong in the Force?  I can barely train myself, how am I going to be able to help them?”  Her hand felt red and raw, the grease long gone.  She tossed down the rag. </p>
<p>Kell slid to the ground, bringing his stained hands around her waist, ignoring her grunt of protest.  “You’re getting better all the time.  And you wouldn’t have to train them, there’s an Academy now.  All you’d have to do is be their mother.  We can do this.  Together.”</p>
<p>“I’m horrible with kids,” she whispered, trying to pull away from his embrace, but her attempt to match the strength of the hand-to-hand combat expert failed miserably. </p>
<p>“You’d be a good mother,” Kell whispered back. </p>
<p>“No, I wouldn’t.” </p>
<p>“Hate to break things up,” a voice rang out over the near-deserted hanger deck, “but we need to get moving.”  The couple looked up to see Face striding towards them, looking deadly serious even with the grin tugging at his lips. </p>
<p>“Tyria’s bird won’t be ready for a while,” Kell replied, pulling Tyria tighter into his embrace with a grin that firmly said he wasn’t embarrassed to be caught hugging his wife in front of a superior officer. </p>
<p>Face sighed and directed a pitying look towards Tyria.  “I’m afraid we’ll have to leave you behind, then.  We can’t wait any longer; we’ve only got a short amount of time to get Micamberlecto into place before Gallamby gets a whiff of what’s going on.” </p>
<p>Kell yawned.  “We could tell Runt he can’t take a shower anymore.  That should cover up the smell.  Or maybe we should just smear around that rotten drivel that keeps coming out of your mouth.” </p>
<p>“Or maybe be I could shoot you and we could use your decomposing corpse as cologne,” Face added brightly and then nodded to Tyria.  “With your lady’s permission, of course.” </p>
<p>“Shoot away,” Tyria said with a feral smile.  </p>
<p>Kell’s eyes narrowed at Face as his grip on Tyria slackened.  “You wouldn’t, you need me.” </p>
<p>“You got it in one, Explosions Boy,” Face remarked.  “Which is why Tyria needs to stay behind for this one.  Tyria, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”  He motioned for Kell to follow him to where the rest of the Rogues were staging. </p>
<p>Kell leaned down and kissed the top of Tyria’s blonde hair.  “I’ll bring you back a souvenir,” he said with a wink before following his commanding officer in to the ill-lit hallway. </p>
<p>Tyria stood staring down at the warping metal plates of the decking.  She still felt angry and upset, and now she was feeling very much alone.  She wanted to run or scream or beg to Face to wait just so she’d have something to keep her mind occupied and away from the thoughts of a children that kept flashing though her mind.  Bending down, she selected a hydrospanner, determined to at least fix what she could on her X-Wing as the struggle would keep her mind busy.  Turning around to climb back up she stopped short, nearly dropping the spanner in surprise. </p>
<p>A young man, still more boy than man, stood by the X-Wing, studying the ship with wide eyes.  Tyria hadn’t heard him approach. </p>
<p>“Excuse me, but who are you?” she asked, approaching him cautiously. </p>
<p>He spun around, his dark tail of hair slapping at his shoulder.  “I’m sorry, I was just looking!”  His hands rose in the air and he backed away. </p>
<p>Tyria lowered her arm, embarrassed slightly at the aggressive way she held the spanner.  “Sorry, you startled me.  You live here, on the station?” she guessed.  There had been few ships in the station’s bays other than the Wraith’s X-Wings and what ships there were seemed to all belong to various inhabitants of the station.  Whatever this place had once been, its days of glory had long faded. </p>
<p>“Sort of,” he said offhandedly.  “This a new model Headhunter or something?” </p>
<p>A smile graced her face as she choked down a laugh.  The X-Wing was considered the most recognizable ship in the galaxy next to a TIE fighter.  The poor kid must have been born on this forsaken station if he couldn’t recognize one.  “Sort of.  You like ships?” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets in a casual manner, but Tyria noticed he never took his wide eyes off the ship.  “My dad repairs ships.” </p>
<p>Tyria’s heart leapt.  When the Wraiths arrived, they had been unable to locate anyone willing to help fix her ship.  “He around?  I could use the help.  I’d pay, of course.” </p>
<p>“No, he’s not around,” he replied quietly as he tore his eyes off the ship and gazed at the floor.  After a few moments, he raised his head.  “Say, the engines, they look a lot like a Headhunter’s engines and my dad taught me how to fix them.  I’m not as good as my dad was, but I could help.”</p>
<p>Tyria’s green eyes met his brown and she could see the honest eagerness hidden there.  “Do you know what an extruder valve is?”</p>
<p>“A what?” </p>
<p>Tyria grinned and began gathering her long blonde hair back into it’s bun.  “Never mind, you’ll do.  Grab a spanner and meet me up top.” </p>
<p>He nodded solemnly and shed his jacket before rolling up his sleeves and grabbing a couple of tools from the kit.  Together, they began to pick apart the engine, sorting laser-melted mess from good machinery.  Except for the occasional request for help, neither said much.  In silence, they worked well into the night. </p>
<p>When Tyria finally demanded they stop for the night to rest, she dismounted the X-Wing and grabbed her solvent rag.  She turned to hand it to her young companion, but he was already gone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>II</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After spending a rather uncomfortable night trying to sleep in her X-Wing, Tyria awoke early and immediately began work.  While her husband had managed to persuade one of the locals to sell them what parts would be needed to replace those systems irreparably damaged, things like wire were in short supply and it would require stripping the old to make do for the new.  Pulling out a pocket vibroblade, she went to work freeing the colorful plasticoated wires from their complex, winding prisons. </p>
<p>“Need help?” </p>
<p>Tyria jumped, the blade nearly nicking her finger.  She took a deep breath, once again wishing she had at least enough Force control to discern when people were sneaking up on her, and let it out in a hiss.  “Make a little noise, would you?  I’m from Toprawa and even we make more noise than you do.” </p>
<p>The young man winced.  “Sorry.”</p>
<p>“That’s okay.  Why don’t you grab the fried durasteel doohickey we pried off last night and see if any of the wire can be salvaged,” Tyria commented as she pulled her own doohickey closer and offered him a crate to sit on. </p>
<p>“It’s a regulator for the inertial pump, by the way,” he replied as he pulled the strange contortion of metal and wire toward him. </p>
<p>Tyria just snorted.  “Now you sound like my husband.  He’s a mechanic,” she added. </p>
<p>“My dad talks like that too, but my mom’s pretty used to it,” he replied distantly. </p>
<p>This time Tyria noted the swirling emotional currents the young man emitted in the Force.  Gently, she reached out to try and briefly brush his mind but there was nothing.  She had failed again, the swirls fading into the present.  “Where are your parents?” </p>
<p>“They’re dead.”  The cold, hollow tone he used explained more than his actual words.  Tyria could feel the same words, in the same manner forming on her own tongue years ago.  This time she said nothing. </p>
<p>Once again, they worked in silence.  As time began to thaw the cold wall between them, Tyria finally spoke.  “Mine died when I was sixteen.” </p>
<p>“Seventeen,” he replied, the surprise in his voice less from her revelation than from the fact he had spoken at all.  He glanced at her and then buried his head once more in his work.</p>
<p>A little while later, Tyria spoke again.  “Toprawa.  Killed by Imps in the purges.” </p>
<p>“Pirates.” </p>
<p>“Twelve years ago.” </p>
<p>At this unspoken question, his head snapped up and Tyria saw fire in his eyes.  “I don’t want to talk about it.  Anyway, I think that was my friend’s ship that just came in.”  He stormed off, giving his tail of hair a righteous throw over the shoulder and a bit of a hideous shake that reminded her of someone. </p>
<p>Later, while hunting for someone to buy food other than rations from, she thought it strange that she didn’t see any new ships in the desolate hanger bays. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>III</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A day went by, and then two and Tyria still continued her efforts to repair her X-Wing.  The boy hadn’t returned and his technical knowledge or Kell’s, she was forced to limit her efforts to prepping the engine replacement and fixing the cosmetic and structural damage from the blast.  Just as she finished bolting a split to a slightly charred spar, she heard footsteps. </p>
<p>Tyria looked up and felt a rush of emotion.  “Kell!  You’re back.  Where is the rest of the squadron?  What’s going on?”  Her words rushed out as she scrambled off the X-Wing to give him a rather greasy embrace. </p>
<p>“The squad is fine, if that’s all you care about,” Kell sniffed in exaggerated hurt. </p>
<p>She patted his shoulder.  “Sorry, dear.  How was your explosion?” </p>
<p>“Spectacular!  Blew the doors right off the Diktat’s little private retreat.  Shattered the neighbor’s windows, too.” </p>
<p>Tyria couldn’t keep the wince off her face.  “Wasn’t the Horn Estate next door?” </p>
<p>“It still is, minus a few upstairs windows.  Director Horn was quite pleasant about it.  Said he enjoyed the show and requested that I start adding bits of powdered metal to give things a bit of color.  He specifically requested green to go with the black smoke,” Kell said with a grin.  “It’s hard to believe he’s related to Horn.”</p>
<p>“Technically, they’re not,” she responded. </p>
<p>“Good, then you can’t use the Horns as an argument for not having children,” Kell teased. </p>
<p>The warm smile on Tyria’s face cooled.  “Let’s not talk about his now.” </p>
<p>Sighing, her husband surrendered.  “Fine, how’s the X-Wing?  I see you got the coax pump off, so I’m guessing you found some help?” </p>
<p>“I did actually, some kid who lives on the station.  He hasn’t been by in a couple of days, I think I asked him one too many questions.”  Biting at her lip in though she added, “He reminds me of someone.” </p>
<p>“Who?” </p>
<p>“Well, with that hair of his, he sort of reminds me of that hideous bodyguard disguise of yours.  But they’re someone else…I can’t place my finger on it, but I feel it.”  Frown lines creased her forehead as tried to think, but once again, the glimpse of insight retreated from her mind before she could pin it down. </p>
<p>Kell reached down a fingered a lock of her hair that had somehow escaped from her hair tie.  “Maybe you’re seeing pieces of what our kids might be like in him.” </p>
<p>Tyria pulled away, ignoring the jerk of her head as Kell failed to release her hair quick enough.  “I told you I don’t want to talk about it.  We decided.  I decided.  I’d be a horrible mother, I can’t even talk to a kid with out him running away.  Just drop it.” </p>
<p>He grabbed her shoulders, refusing to let her fight her way out of his embrace.  “Tyria, listen.  I earned your heart through persistence.  You stripped me of my delusions, and now I want to return the favor.  You’d be a great mother.  We’d be great parents.”  His point made, he released her. </p>
<p>She spun around, her angry eyes meeting his calm ones.  “Drop it.  I don’t want to talk about it.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Kell replied.  He grabbed a torquer and went to work, not saying another word to his wife. </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>IV</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The station was deep into its night cycle, although there was little change.  The flickering glowpanels shown with their usual dreary intensity and the starry expanse beyond the magcon field was still the same.  The only noises that echoed up and down the deserted corridors were that of station expanding and contracting and that of Tyria torquing down her engine’s cowling. </p>
<p>While Kell had left to scrounge a few chips for Tyria’s astormech and some food to sate his ever-expansive appetite, Tyria had chosen to stay and finish out the repairs.  Channeling the anger and frustration that still burned within her from the brief fight with her husband, she gave the bolt one last hard twist, locking it into place.  Sitting back on her heels, she felt a bit of anger ebb and pride flowed in to replace it.  Now there was only the ornery task of threading the control lines. </p>
<p>Gathering the lines together, she quickly discovered a problem; she didn’t have three hands.  Somewhere down the line, some foolish engineer had decided that two of the lines had to be attached to the actuator with the same bracket, making it impossible for one person to both hold the lines in place and secure the bracket.  Tyria let out a hiss of frustration. </p>
<p>“Need help?” a voice asked from below her. </p>
<p>Glancing down, she felt surprised to see the young man from the previous day.  “Hey, I thought you disappeared.  Sure, come on up, I could use the extra hands.” </p>
<p>He climbed up and she shifted so that he could comfortably perch beside her.  Immediately, he spotted the problem.  “You hold, I’ll tighten.” </p>
<p>As he worked, Tyria had an opportunity to study him closely.  There was something different about him today.  His face set harder, frown lines more defined.  Looking at him, she no longer had the urge to refer to him as a kid.  Dipping a toe into the Force, she felt searing coldness radiating from the young man.  Shocked, she jerked back, nearly dropping the lines. </p>
<p>“It’s okay, you can let go.  I’m almost done,” he said, noticing her movement. </p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” she whispered, still trying to comprehend the changes that he had undergone in their short time apart. </p>
<p>“Nothing.”  His voice was hard, flat, and intense.  It resonated uneasily in her mind, tugging at memories that didn’t wish to surface. </p>
<p>“Tell me,” she demanded gently.  “I know there’s something wrong.  Let me help you.” </p>
<p>Looking down, he rubbed at his hands with a cloth, erasing the marks of grease.  But long after the grease was gone, he kept rubbing, as if trying to get rid of another darker, more persistent stain.   Finally, he set the cloth aside and looked up, his too old eyes meeting hers.  “I killed them,” he rasped. </p>
<p>She felt the sudden urge to run as those piercing eyes maintained their cold gaze.  “What?” Tyria exclaimed, confused.  Abruptly, she felt her heart skip as her gut dropped.  “Your parents,” she whispered. </p>
<p>“No,” he replied levelly, apparently unbothered by the fear and revulsion that her face displayed.  “I killed their murderers.  I hunted them down and killed them.”  He broke his gaze and looked down at his hands, his frigid demeanor cracking and then melting.  “I killed them,” he whispered.  Tears glistened on his cheeks. </p>
<p>Tyria’s mind raced with glimpses of emotions and images as her thoughts traced their way through the death and destruction she had wrought in the name of the New Republic.  She felt the panic of being discovered, the iciness leftover from witnessing Shalla snap a man’s neck, the revolution of hearing that Dia had shot Castin, and the crawling, writhing sickness during the events at Binring Biomed.  Her mouth opened to give voice to shared emotions and experience, but she couldn’t find the words.  Instead, she instinctively wrapped him in her arms, pulling him close as she gently rocked him. </p>
<p>The young man’s tears gave into sobs as he clung to her, but soon abated.  He pulled back and gave her a watery-eyed half-smile before for redness colored his cheeks.  Swiping madly with his sleeve at his face, he whispered, “Thanks.” </p>
<p>Tyria just nodded solemnly.  There was a hundred things she could say, a million truths she could tell him about the dark side of humanity, but he didn’t need to hear them.  He knew them.  But that small part of him that was still a child had needed that hug, had needed that moment of mother like concern and love and her heart soared to know that she had been able to provide it.  “You going to be all right?”</p>
<p>He shrugged, and frowned, still trying to rebuild the strong walls kept him functional.  “I don’t know.”  Then one last thought escaped before the walls closed in, “I’m scared.” </p>
<p>Tyria considered the dark haired young man a moment.  “Scared what’s going to happen to you, or scared of something else?” </p>
<p>“A part of me enjoyed it,” he whispered. </p>
<p>She sighed.  “I don’t think you enjoyed killing them, or you wouldn’t be this upset about it.  I think what you enjoyed was bringing them to justice.” </p>
<p>“But I didn’t!” he exclaimed.  “I could’ve left them for Corsec but I didn’t!” </p>
<p>“Because you wanted a part of it.  You wanted revenge.”  She leaned back and patted the S-Foil.  “It’s one of the reason I fly a starfighter.  I want to be the one to personally handout some justice to the Imps, but I know a dark little part of me wants to do it for revenge.  You have to learn to harness it, to kill only when there is no other option, otherwise we’re just as bad as they are.  The real joy of it is in protecting others.” </p>
<p>Tears drying, the young man looked hard at the ship he sat on.  “I understand.  Do you…” he hesitated.  “Do you think I can come with you?  I can fly.” </p>
<p>“No,” she said with a sad smile.  As his face fell deeper into despair, she reached out and tugged gently on his tail of hair.  “Go out and enjoy life.  Despite the fact you’re not feeling much like a kid right now, you still have a lot of life left in front of you.  Go enjoy it.” </p>
<p>“No,” he said firmly, his hair pulling out her hand as he shook his head.  “I can’t.  I want to come with you.” </p>
<p>“What about your friends?  Don’t you want to stay with them?”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t want to be a burden, they have enough trouble.”  He cut Tyria off as she attempted to refute his claim.  “If you don’t want me, I’m going to buy my own ship.  I’ll be a trader or something, go off on my own.” </p>
<p>Tyria nodded slowly.  “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.  Just remember to have fun.” </p>
<p>The young man’s face brightened.  “I think I could do that.  So, it sounds like I’m buying a ship.  What’s a good name for her?” </p>
<p>She laughed.  “A name before a ship?  Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?  Let’s see, my husband named his last ship the <em>Doran Star</em>, but I think you should have something more fun.” </p>
<p>“Fun?” </p>
<p>“Yeah.”  Tyria tugged at her lip as she thought hard, but the only thing that came to mind was the old Wraith Squadron standby.  “How about Kettch?” </p>
<p>“Catch?” he replied, confusion written all over his face. </p>
<p>Tyria grinned.  “Something like that.” </p>
<p>“How about <em>Catch Treta</em>?  Or <em>Catch the Treta</em>?  <em>Catch Treta Too</em>?” he asked thoughtfully.  “No, <em>Treta’s Catch</em>,” he said proudly, standing to leave. </p>
<p>“I like it,” Tyria said with a smile, giving him one last hug. </p>
<p>“Thanks, for everything.”  He hopped down and strode confidently from the hanger into the darkened hall just as Kell entered. </p>
<p>Kell raised his arms and waved a grease-stained bag and a circuit board in the air.  “I bring thee, fair lady, presents from a far with tidings of peace!” </p>
<p>She could smell the oily tang of fried mynock as she climbed off the X-Wing.  “Smells delicious.”  As he set down his purchases, she embraced him.  “Apology accepted and point conceded.” </p>
<p>“What?” Kell asked, confusion crossing his handsome features. </p>
<p>“While I suspect we’re getting into more trouble than we can handle with the Force thing, I think I’m ready for kids,” she murmured into his chest. </p>
<p>Kell let out a low whistle.  “If I knew fried mynock would do that…oww.”  He rubbed his arm where Tyria’s fist had connected in a soft blow.  “Okay, okay, seriousness turned to on.  Tyria, I want to do this with you if you’re ready.  I think we’ll both be great parents and as long as we have each other we can make it through the rough spots.  We’re Wraiths, after all.” </p>
<p>“We’ll just have to make sure our kids don’t spend anytime with Uncle Face,” Tyria replied.  And then frowned.  “Or Aunt Shalla.  Or Uncle Elssar.  Or, come to think of it, their father.” </p>
<p>Kell gave his wife a toothy grin, “Boom.  We’ll work something out.  By the way, what made you change your mind?” </p>
<p>“That young man who was helping me with the X-Wing,” Tyria replied, still feeling a bit proud of the conversation that had occurred earlier. </p>
<p>“Oh, he showed up again?” Kell remarked, surprised.   </p>
<p>“Yes, you passed him in the hall on your way in.”</p>
<p>Kell frowned, thinking.  “No, I didn’t.” </p>
<p>Tyria drew back from his embrace, frown lines etching her forehead and a sense of unease residing in her gut.  “You must have seen him.  How could you not?” </p>
<p>“Maybe it’s because I had eyes only for you?” Kell teased, his lips captured hers in a long kiss. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>V</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The small apartment was filled with loud conversation and even louder decorations.  Tyria batted aside a florescent yellow duck cutout that hung from the doorway, proclaiming to all that ‘It’s a boy!’ as she carried her precious bundle into the room.  The Wraiths had proudly decorated the Tainer’s apartment in celebration of the homecoming of their first-ever ‘Junior Wraith’ with obnoxious colored flimsy and balloons obviously chosen by Face for maximum eye-hurting.  The display hurt Tyria’s already pounding head, but she didn’t have the heart to ruin their obvious joy.  “Wratihs,” she proclaimed, “I’d like you to meet Doran Tainer.” </p>
<p>Instantly, Shalla and one of the new Wraiths were at her side, shooing away the clustering men folk and cooing gently over the tiny baby.  With their help, she managed to make it into the living room before collapsing on the couch, still clutching Doran to her chest.  Around her, the Wraiths gathered for their first glimpse of the baby.  Kell approached her cautiously, accepting Doran from her so that he could proudly introduce him to the others. </p>
<p>Eventually, he joined her, collapsing tiredly at her side as Shalla happily fed the baby his bottle as she conversed with Face and Dia.  “You know,” he moaned, “I’m not sure this kid thing was that good of an idea.” </p>
<p>“I am,” she smiled tiredly.  Her thoughts drifted back to the conversations nine months ago.  “I wonder how that young man from Corellia is doing?” </p>
<p>Kell shifted uncomfortably.  “I asked around the station that night, and no one had ever seen him before,” he confided.</p>
<p>Tyria blinked in surprise.  “What about his ship?  He was going to name it <em>Treta’s Catch</em>.  It has to be in a registry somewhere.” </p>
<p>“I checked,” Kell said gently.  “There’s no such ship registered.” </p>
<p>“But it has to exist!  <em>Treta’s Catch</em> has to exist,” Tyria exclaimed.  Her tiredness was giving way to agitation as the possibility that she had been hallucinating percolated through her mind. </p>
<p>“Um, it did once,” a voice said from behind the couple.  Tyria turned to see Wes Janson holding a stuffed Ewok with a bow around its neck.</p>
<p>“Janson,” Kell said with surprise.  “I didn’t think you were coming.” </p>
<p>“Had to see new little Wraith and make sure he’s carrying on the tradition,” Wes replied with a grin, holding up the Ewok. </p>
<p>“So, you’ve heard of a ship by that name?” Tyria pressed. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Wes said, puzzled.  “Years ago.” </p>
<p>“No, I mean a current ship.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, but the only ship I know of by that name was destroyed on a supply run shortly before the Battle of Yavin,” Wes responded. </p>
<p>Kell leaned in towards Tyria and gave her shoulder a squeeze.  “May be you were just seeing something in the Force, friends long gone and all that stuff.”</p>
<p>Wes snorted.  “Long gone, all right.  Long gone off the deep end.  Do you know what he’s got me doing this week?  Datapadding.  Filing.”  He shuddered. </p>
<p>“Who?” Tyria asked, trying to keep up with Wes’ odd tangent. </p>
<p>“The former owner-captain of the <em>Treta’s Catch.  </em>Ace of the Air?  Dictator of Datapads?  You know…” he trailed off at the couple’s confused expressions.  “Wedge.  That was his freighter’s name before he joined Red Squadron.  Stupid name for a ship, don’t you think?  Make sure you tease him a bit.  Now, where’s the young man of the hour?” </p>
<p>Tyria and Kell stared in silence as the party continued around them. </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>